


The Scientific Method

by Zoeleo



Series: The Rule of Three [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Gratuitous use of italics, I Just Need Them All to be Loved Okay?, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: After their last attempt at date night got derailed, Tim and Stephanie are determined to take Jason out for a killer first official date. He's still a little unsure of how he will fit in to the lives of Gotham's youngest hottest CEO and blonde bombshell, but at least they feed him well - oh look! There's Cornish hen on the menu!





	The Scientific Method

**Author's Note:**

> Hell y’all. I don’t even… I don’t even know anymore. I have been living, breathing, eating, and shitting this fic for 2 weeks. It was 30 pages long before rewrites. 30 PAGES. Sweet Jesus. Even now at 20, which is still ridiculously long for smut and you have my apologies. If you make it to the end, you deserve a gold star. Especially considering they don't even get into the smut until like page 11. Sorry. But I really desperately needed Jason to have a good time without sex being a part of the equation. Well. I hope you all like it. I hope it's a fitting end to this threesome's trilogy. And I am just, so so so glad to post it and put it down. And be done. 
> 
> On an unrelated note… I’ve finally sorted of started to learn how to Tumblr! Haven’t quite learned how to post Ao3 stuff on Tumblr yet, and even if I did, not sure this is the story I'd want to be my first post… But I’m sure that I’ll be getting there soon. Come by and find me @ remytr0n

Jason stands at the curb and twirls an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He contemplated lighting it when he pulled it out minutes ago, but he doesn't really want to smell or taste like smoke tonight. Not that Tim or Blondie have said anything, or insinuated that his smoking bothered them (and god he'd wish Dick would do the same and just shut up with the nagging). But tonight he wants to be at his best. So instead of lighting up, he twirls, and occasionally pats at the lighter in his pocket to reassure himself it's there.

He's not the nervous wreck he was last time, now that he knows this is most definitely a date. Holy shit. Which is crazier? That he's going on a date with Red Robin and Bat Girl? Or that he's going on a date with Gotham's favorite sweethearts: Tim Drake, America's youngest hottest CEO, and Stephanie Brown, his blonde bombshell pre-med girlfriend? He's out of his league either way. He knows ultimately that he's not good enough for them, but they've never made him feel like he isn't, and he's just greedy and selfish enough to ignore the guilt he should probably feel for allowing himself to get pulled into their orbit.

He rolls the cigarette over his knuckles again. A pair of headlights turn the corner. He grins and steps forward, tucking the cigarette away. A moon glow white Maserati pulls to a stop in front of him. The back window rolls down and Blondie leans out of it with a smile even more eye-catching than her plunging neck line. Jason wolf-whistles at the sight.

"Damn Blondie, you could give a man a heart attack looking like that."

"You don't look too bad yourself," she replies with an exaggerated leer, "Now get in the car loser, we're going on a date."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Wow. How could I resist an invite like that?"

"You've—you've never seen Mean Girls?" Blondie asks, smile dropping away in disbelief.

He shakes his head.

"It's a movie. And a classic. And you know what? Nevermind. Just get in the car."

He reaches for the handle of the door and she tuts and shakes her head.

"Nope, you get front-seat privileges Hot Stuff," she informs him, pointing to the front passenger seat.

Well, in that case... He saunters forward, letting his fingers drift across the smooth surface of the car's body before curling around the handle. He opens the door, and before he can take in the sumptuousness of the interior, he's struck by the driver. Tim's pale eyes practically fluoresce in the cool blue glow of the dashboard. His hair is styled up and out of his face in a gravity-defying tousle that Jason's only seen after raking his fingers through it in heated fantasies. A sliver of pale skin cuts a line down his throat where the top few buttons of his shirt are left undone.

"Earth to Jason. Hello?"

"Hm, what?" he blinks, eyes yanking back to Tim's face.

"Are you going to actually get in any time soon? We have a reservation," Tim reminds him with a tilted grin, while Blondie snickers in the background.

"Oh. Yeah. You um, you look good by the way," he offers stiltedly as he bends down to get in the car.

Trying to fold his large frame into the front seat is an unanticipated challenge. Vaguely, he remembers this is why Bruce has all of his flashier cars custom made. When he finally wedges himself in, his knees are almost at his chest and knock against the glove compartment.

"Maybe Blondie could ride shotgun on the way back?" he suggests.

"Sorry," Tim apologizes with a sympathetic grimace, "I didn't really think about that."

Blondie leans forward and squeezes her shoulders between the seats. "Before you get your heart set on it Big Guy, I gotta let you know it's not much better back here," she informs him.

"Well... The important thing is that we look cool," Tim attempts at cheeriness.

The attempt is met with unconvinced silence. Jason grunts and twists, trying to find his seatbelt, but it eludes him in the cramped quarters until Stephanie helpfully hands it to him over his broad shoulder. He pulls the belt over his chest, accidentally fumbling the buckle when he tilts back his head to thank her. The buckle zips back up to the belt anchor and clips him in the face.

"Jesus fuck!" he curses, hand flying up over his stinging lip.

"Are you okay?" Tim reaches over and pulls his hand away to get a look.

"Am I bleeding?!"

"Uh, no. No, you're good. It doesn't look like it broke the skin. It's just a little red."

"Did I chip a tooth? It feels like it hit a tooth!" Jason flusters.

This is emphatically _not_ how this night is supposed to be going. Tim's thumb brushes his top lip up to expose his teeth.

"No, no. You look good. Your teeth are fine," he assures him.

Jason closes his mouth and frowns. He runs his tongue back and forth over his teeth feeling for a nick in the enamel. He relaxes back into his seat only when he finds nothing. When Stephanie hands him the buckle a second time, he straps himself in with greater care.

"Well. At least we _look cool_ ," Blondie snarks.

Tim and Jason turn to stare at her. The three of them fall into a fit of giggles.

"Okay, okay," Jason growls, trying to take control of the situation, "Let's get out of here already, huh?"

Tim wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and nods, "Yes. Let's go."

Tim drives them into the heart of the business district where his car no longer stands out, but blends in among the other luxury vehicles. He stops at the curb where a young man in a suit stands at a valet parking podium. Jason feels like a Jack-in-the-box, legs springing free as soon as he opens the door.

The restaurant takes up the bottom floor of a Wells-Fargo building, but he can't make out anything else about it through the smoked glass windows. It's not one of the few upscale places Bruce dragged him to as a child. The handful of occasions he remembers going someplace this hoity-toity were for a couple WE retirement parties and Lucius Fox's birthday. Despite everything he holds Bruce at fault for, he will be eternally grateful Bruce was never interested in foisting the aristocratic lifestyle on him aside from the odd charity gala now and then.

This is someplace new. Trendy. A place that fits the corporate savant side of Tim. The disparity he'd been able to turn a blind eye to up until now is suddenly flashing neon in his face. _This_ is Tim. Maybe not all of him, or the most important part of him, but it's just as real as the Tim that crashes on his couch in an oversized coffee stained hoodie. And Jason has no place in this world. He balks, heels sticking to the cement sidewalk. Arms link through his in a move so well coordinated he'd swear Tim and Blondie prognosticated the possibility he'd freak out and planned accordingly. Together they whisk him through the doors before he can cut and run.

Blondie's hair tickles his neck when she slants close to murmur in his ear, "Calm down. Trust me, I know what you're feeling. It was the same for me the first time Tim took me to a big scary fancy place. He just wants to spoil you, so let him show off a little bit. If for no other reason than the food, because oh my good this grub is worth taking a punch to the tit for."

"Mmm. Goose livers and fish eggs, my favorite. Yum," Jason hisses back sarcastically while Tim speaks with the concierge.

Stephanie laughs and pushes him forward. They trail behind Tim and the seating hostess in a single file line through the restaurant. Jason nervously scans the layout, noting the exits and assessing the staff and other diners. They're herded to a circular booth upholstered in black leather with copper studding and he irritably observes that he's been bracketed on either side once again by his dates, ostensibly to prevent escape. He grumbles under his breath and tries to relax into the seat padding. Blondie rolls her eyes and rubs his knee under the table soothingly.

"Chillax dude."

"I am chill," he insists, accepting a menu from the waiter. "I am totally cool, calm, and collected."

He's being unfair. The place really isn't so bad. It's fashionably dim with most of the light emanating from the cozy flicker of a two-sided fireplace that dominates the center of the restaurant. Accent walls of rusticated stone break the floorpan into comfortable semi-private sectionals. He reads over the menu cynically, expecting pretentious bite-sized dishes in French or Italian, and his brow furrows at the simplicity of the options. He raises his head to ask Tim to explain when a waiter bearing a speared hunk of meat passes them on his way to another table.

"Wait. What is that?" he asks pointing.

He shushes the elderly British voice in his head despondently reminding him that _pointing is rude_. Tim follows his finger and replies with a smirk.

"That is what's for dinner. I know you'd rather have a burger than foie gras and caviar, but I thought you'd like this. It's a Brazilian steakhouse. I've got us what's called the full _Churrasco Experience_ , which basically means they're going to bring every kind of meat you can think of to the table on a giant kebab and carve right on to your plate for you. It's pretty fracking awesome," Tim explains with sanguine excitement.

Jason stares wide-eyed.

" _Every kind of meat?_ " he squeaks.

"Yup. Steak, pork, chicken, lamb, whatever fish of the day-oh! And those little tiny chicken thingies, Cornish hens."

Jason turns to Blondie for confirmation. She nods, eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Holy shit. You get me. You really get me. I'm gonna date you so hard. Both of you. Holy shit. I'm gonna eat every single thing here, and then I'm gonna eat you out," he points to Stephanie, "and then I think I'm actually gonna let you put your dick up my ass," he turns to Tim, "because this is the _best_ thing I've ever heard of."

And _it is_. Oh god, he eats. So much. It's everything he hoped it would be. Judging by the looks of their table side carvers, they are equal parts impressed and disgusted by how much he packs away. He maybe has a lot of wine too. He thinks it's kind of funny that carding doesn't exist on the opposite ends of the dining spectrum. No one cares if you're under twenty-one in seedy bottom feeder bars or elite eateries. But their sommelier Corinne is a fucking delight and great at her job and everything she brings pairs _so nicely_ , like the asti spumante they had with the manjar branco for dessert. Which was on the house, compliments of the owner Mr. Victor Silva, who stopped by their table and sat with them for ten minutes telling ribald jokes in broken English. It passes his mind that Victor's friendliness is an effort to curry favor with the illustrious Timothy Drake-Wayne, but he dismisses it in favor of the fact that they are clearly best fucking patrons here.

The night rolls by in a pleasant blur of flavors, scents, laughter and conversation until the lights raise in a subtle hint that it's time to settle checks and head home. He decidedly does not sneak a glance at the balance, not willing to jeopardize the good mood over an ill-timed bout of hindsight guilt. He huffs as he levers himself up from the booth, unable to remember the last time he ate this much... Wait, no. His first Thanksgiving at the manor he'd had four helpings of Alfred's mashed potatoes and made himself sick. Seeing his struggle, Blondie laughs and helps pull him up and out to the entrance where Tim is talking with the valet. He turns at their approach.

"So, he's going to call us a taxi. Because responsibility. I'll pick up the car sometime tomorrow. I asked him to make sure it was a nice taxi. A big taxi. So we can fit Jason in it this time," he tacks on cheekily.

"Good idea. Especially since he ate like three times his weight tonight." Blondie remarks, patting his distended stomach. "Damn, Jason remind me to take you to Station Burger. There's this thing called the Ladder Challenge, where if you eat a stack of three burgers you get a t-shirt, free dessert, and your picture on their wall. I think you totally have a chance."

He pushes her hands away.

"Easy on the goods, Blondie," he chastises her without heat.

He looks down and rubs his belly contemplatively. He wishes ten-year old Jason could see him now. Eating for fun, not survival. Stomach so full it's pushing tight against his shirt, not caving inwards showcasing his ribs. The constant stress of trying to secure his next meal had been almost as pernicious as starvation itself. He wishes he could go back in time to let his younger self know that _it gets better_. Not just in regards to food, but that he'd have the affections of two amazing people. That he wouldn't always be alone. Sure, it wasn't easy getting to this point, and he'd had to _die_ along the way, but it was worth it.

Worth it.

His mind grinds to a halt. Revenge hadn't proven worth the trauma of his return. Neither is the tensions fraught pseudo-truce he has with Bruce, or Dick's delusional and overbearing attempts at reconciliation. But this...

"This is us!" Tim shouts, tipsy-loud, as a shiny black escalade stops at the curb in front of them.

They pile into the back. It takes longer than usual to buckle in, hands meandering to land on shoulders, chests and thighs. Jason's mind buzzes with anticipation for the moment they reach Tim's building and he can touch without limit. After an indeterminable ride they fall out of the SUV gracelessly and trip into the elevator - Blondie literally. He snaps an arm out and catches her before she face-plants, then decides it will be easier to just carry her the rest of the way rather than make her wobble around in heels. She rides on his hip like a toddler, arms looped around his neck. Her dress hitches up around her thighs, exposing the smooth flesh of her long legs. God, she has great legs.

"Damn," Tim croaks off the side, his gaze searing. "That's hot. How strong you are, it's..." he fades off.

"Yeah?" Jason smirks and pats his other hip, "Bet I could carry both of you. Hop up?"

Tim makes a face so filled with awed excitement he looks five years old. Jason chuckles and waves encouragingly. Tim carefully places his arms around Jason's shoulders and hauls himself up. He grunts when Tim locks his legs around his waist, pushing against his uncomfortably full middle, but the additional weight isn't too bad. There's some shuffling to get everyone comfortably settled, but by the time the elevator dings for the top floor he's got them balanced well enough to strut down to the hall to the penthouse door. He leans to his right so Tim can slot his passkey in the door and enter a code into the pad and carries them all the way to the bedroom doorway before setting them down.

He looks at both of them, still in the loose circle of his arms, and they look back up at him with smiles. Stephanie is so beautiful. He's only ever seen her in street clothes and barefaced, and had loved every genuine inch of her then. Now, with her hair in artfully styled golden waves and the perfect bow of her lips accentuated in rich color... She's goddamn ethereal. And Tim next to her with his porcelain skin and innate poise, the tantalizingly masculine lines of his frame underscored by the cut of his tailored shirt and pants. His heart pounds. He wants them. He wants them so badly, to feel their skin under his fingers and pull moans from their mouths. But he also wants more. _We care about you_ , Tim had said last time. Neither he nor Stephanie have done anything to the contrary, but Jason's been disappointed so many times by similar claims he needs the reassurance that this is thing between them all is beyond bedroom romance.

"I—I know there was kind of all of this expectation about tonight," he speaks in faltering bursts, "And I said some stuff at the restaurant, but—do you think—do you think we could just, be here, like this, for a while? I just—I just want to remember this.”

His face burns at the admission and he turns his gaze to his feet while he waits for their dissatisfaction. Cool fingers trace his jawline and tilt it back up to meet Tim's eyes. A series of micro-expressions flick across Tim's face and it's like watching a mathematician work through a formula. He knows the moment Tim arrives at the answer, when the pensive line between his brows smoothes out. The hand on his jaw flattens to cup his cheek.

"Of course, Jason. Tonight is for you. It's... Us trying to show you how much we want you to be with us. It's not supposed to just be sex or a lead up to it. If you want to cuddle all night and nothing else, it's fine. It's whatever you want," Tim promises fervently.

Jason closes his eyes and leans into the touch. He nods. When did he get this fucking lucky? He opens his eyes back up when Blondie sags against him.

"Oh thank god," she mutters in happy relief, "Because I ate way too much and honestly if I had to bounce on someone's dick right now, I would probably puke."

Jason throws his head back and guffaws, then winces when it agitates his own glutted gut.

"Same, Blondie. Same."

Tim heaves a sigh. "You two are something else. You know, I always thought those uppity old rich ladies were just being classist when they told me not to date below my station. But now I see the real reason why. We could have been having brain-melting good sex tonight, but nooo. You two plebes have no self control and ate enough kebabs to feed an army," he complains tongue-in-cheek, all the while pushing the both of them towards the bed.

They help each other out of their clothes, more solicitous than salacious, neatly folding it (for once) and setting it aside before crawling up onto the king sized mattress. Jason flops down in the center and Stephanie immediately scooches up against his right side and uses him as a pillow. Tim pulls the covers up around them and tucks them in before sliding into place on Jason's left. Jason closes his eyes in contentment. He can feel the humid puffs of his lovers' breaths against his neck and chest. He can smell the floral scent of Blondie's hair product and Tim's cologne. He luxuriates in the comforting weight of their arms crisscrossed over his waist and the way their legs intertwine. If he died again, he thinks, right here like this - he'd die happy.

"Hey, Tim?" he whispers.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for tonight, It was-" he swallows the lump in his throat, "It was perfect."

 

 

 

 

He wakes to the susurrations of a whispered conversation overhead. He blinks heavily, sleep relenting it's grip slower than he's used to, and for a second he think's he's been drugged. His heart jolts in his chest as he struggles to remember his last conscious thoughts which were... Good. Very good. He tunes in to the words being exchanged and relaxes at Blondie's muffled giggle.

"Steph, we _can't_ ," Tim admonishes quietly, "I want to just as much as you but it's a consent issue."

His ears perk up.

"Oh come on," Blondie scoffs, "It's like the last thing on earth anyone would object to. You love it when I wake you up that way."

"Yes, but but you know I like it because we've talked about it and I've told you I'm cool with it. If you thought you'd want to, you should have asked Jason last night."

"But then it's not a surprise," she pouts.

"What's not a surprise?" Jason asks, pushing up on one elbow.

"Morning Jason," Time greets him with a nod and a tilt of the coffee mug in his hand.

His hair is atrociously close to something out of a Flock of Seagulls music video and there are pillow lines indented across his cheek.

"A wake-up blow job," Blondie beams at him from across the rim of her own mug, mascara smeared and hair in messy wisps that cling to her chin and mouth.

"Oh."

He looks at his crotch, dormant and unmolested beneath the sheets, then back up.

"I know I'm awake already, but I'm not adverse. If it's still on the table, that is. I can pretend I'm asleep if it helps," he offers, practically throwing himself back down flat and closing his eyes.

"I told you," Blondie taunts, and if he had to guess the ensuing silence was probably filled with her sticking her tongue out.

"Still needed to wait for permission," Tim grumbles.

The clink of ceramic hitting wood and the rustle of sheets heralds Blondie diving beneath the covers and crawling into Jason's lap with a gusto that makes him laugh. Then gasp. He was expecting the wet warmth, but _still_. She licks up his length, concentrating on the tip but dipping down unexpectedly ever so often. It's light and teasing, a game where no one keeps score or rushes to win. He shudders and exhales. When he opens his eyes, Tim is looking down on him with a knowing grin. He opens his mouth, a snarky witticism on voyeuristic tendencies on his tongue when Stephanie seals her lips around his crown and sucks.

Tim leans down, lips brushing the shell of his ear, "I love your face when you're in ecstasy. I could watch it all day. Watch it for days. I once stayed up 83 hours to work a case, and you are infinitely more interesting."

Jason's mouth stays open dumbly. Tim's fingers brush his hair back past his temple then curl into his hair. He thrusts his tongue into Jason's unguarded mouth and Jason is thankful because it dampens the embarrassing noises he'd be making otherwise. In contrast, the whimper that slips out when Tim pulls back is mortifyingly loud.

"Shh, shhh," Tim reassures, moving his avid lips further south.

He laves a wet shiny trail down Jason's throat, pausing briefly to dote on his nipples, before continuing down to join Stephanie. Blondie's ministrations to his dick pause as she and Tim exchange their own lascivious greetings and he tears the sheets back to watch. He's not ready when their dual focus turns on him. There's no way to be ready for Blondie's adulation of his cock while Tim lavishes attention upon his balls. The sight of them, gold and dark heads bobbing in turn between his legs is beyond all cerebration.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," he moans, twisting his hands into his own hair, afraid he'd pull too tight if he allowed himself to tangle them into Blondie or Tim's soft strands.

He bites his lip, trying to hold back. He doesn't want to cum yet. He makes a strangled noise and Tim lifts his head to check on him.

"Jason, it's okay. You can cum. I _want_ you to cum. If you're... If you're still up for what you mentioned last night, it will help if you're more relaxed."

He forcibly eases his bottom lip from between his teeth and nods. Tim smiles beatifically and ducks back down. His tongue doesn't return to the tightening skin of his sac, but drags past his hole. Jason's back arches off the bed. He means to warn Blondie, he really does, but his mouth won't form words in the inarticulate shout that wrenches loose from his throat. He wants to sob when she sits up and Tim laps up the pearly trickle down her chin. He might actually sob, because not a second later Blondie is sliding up along his body and tugging him against her. She plants butterfly kisses at his temple and up his hairline. He's almost regained control when Tim ruthlessly reminds him of his presence.

"Jesus Christ, Tim! Give a man a fucking second!" he yelps, hips jerking.

Tim nips the tender skin at the join of his hip before popping up on one arm looking contrite.

"Sorry. Say, out of curiosity... How long of a refractory period do you usually need?"

Jason breathes out heavily, "Dunno. Haven't exactly conducted a scientific study. But more than _that_ at least."

Tim hums and fiddles with his watch.

"Are you—are you setting a timer?!”he asks incredulously.

Blondie whinges, "Not this again, Tim."

"Hey! It's... It's for science," Tim protests lamely, before sobering and turning to Jason, "So. Jason. Are you really okay with this? With bottoming for me?"

Jason sighs and stares up at the ceiling. The moment of truth. Except, the truth is he's known his answer ever since Tim confessed his desire out loud.

"Yeah. Yes. Just, one more minute okay?"

He throws an arm over his face so he doesn't have to see the smug grin on Tim's face. Tim spends the next minute conscientiously massaging away the lingering tautness in Jason's thighs from his last orgasm, until he's feeling rather like a blissed-out puddle. He waits expectantly for the blunt push against his anus, and makes a startled hiss at the wet velvety brush instead. _Holy shit._ Tim gently palpates the flat of his tongue against the pucker of his hole. This is—this is not something someone has ever done for him before. He'd had to prep himself clumsily on the streets if he didn't want to get torn apart, not like any john was going to waste time with that shit. The slick spongy texture is _odd_ at first, but he eases into the warm wet touch faster than he would have believed. His deep relaxed breathing starts to fray when Tim transitions to tantalizingly long broad strokes. It hitches when the tip of his tongue flicks at the furled entrance. Jason's hips twitch abortively but Tim tightens his grip and points his tongue, spearing it slowly through the tight ring of muscle. A guttural exhalation punches from his chest.

Fingers wrap around his wrist and tug his arm off his face. "You're too pretty to cover up like that. Let me see you," Stephanie chides. "How you doing Champ?"

His face flushes hot at the word 'pretty.' He glances down self-consciously, but at this angle it just presents him with a view of his own cock swelling against his stomach and the messy mop of black hair sweetly torturing him. He groans in response.

"Yeah, I know," Stephanie sympathizes with him breathily, "Good, right? He sure knows how to use that thing."

The last word drops into a groan and his eyes are drawn to the movement of her wrist. She rubs her middle and ring finger in tight circles over her clitoris. They divert to dive between the lips of her labia and come back coated with a light sheen. 

“He—he _loves_ ass play. Between you and me—I, I think he’s a bit obsessed. Can’t complain though, he’s certainly—perfected the art,” she pants.

Tim chooses that exact moment to do _something_ with his tongue that has Jason’s insides flip-flopping. He grinds down against the delicious wriggle and whines when Tim inexplicably retreats because he _needs more_. Tim’s grin is feral, cheeks and chin shiny with spit.

“You try growing up watching Robin running around in those spandex booty shorts and _not_ having an obsession with asses. And it wasn’t all just Dick’s fault,” he gives Jason a wink and tips his chin at Blondie, “Hey Steph, hand me the lube?”

She passes it to him and Jason wonders when that came out. He decides it’s not important when Tim settles back between his legs, shouldering them farther apart and resuming his good work. He has Jason writhing again in no time. Everything is _so sopping wet_ , between the saliva and lube and the haze in his head, it takes him a second to realize the prodding at his hole isn’t Tim’s tongue anymore. Tim’s slender finger slides in easily, right to the second knuckle. His brain short circuits.

It doesn’t hurt like he expects, like he remembers. But it’s not all that pleasurable either, just a curious firmness inside him. So far he prefers Tim’s tongue, but he’ll give his lover the benefit of the doubt. He spreads his legs wider while Tim pumps his finger in and out.

“Ready to take another one?” Tim asks as casually as if he was asking Jason what kind of toppings he’d like on his pizza. 

“Sure,” he shrugs.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blasé. Two fingers are way more noticeable than one and his body instinctively stiffens. It still doesn’t _hurt_ , but he can’t say he likes the stretch. Blondie giggles at the face he makes and he wonders if there’s something wrong with him for not feeling the same rapture he’d seen on the faces of the men in the online clips he’d studiously watched in preparation for this. Then Tim crooks his fingers, switching from simple in-and-out to exploratory probing and— _oh god_. 

“There we go,” Tim gloats in a sing-song voice.

He kneads at the spot inside Jason with his fingertips and Jason’s back bows. He keens until they withdraw.

“Feel good, huh?”

“I think I get it now,” Jason concedes.

“Good.” Tim kisses the inside of his thigh and sucks a mark into it. “Think you can get up on your hands and knees for me?”

Jason answers by rolling over and onto all fours. Blondie slips under his frame and makes herself comfortable, splaying her legs open invitingly and reaching up to play with the curls at the back of his neck. She tugs him down into a kiss and while he’s distracted with twining his tongue around hers, Tim presses back in. He doesn’t seek out his prostate again, but scissors his fingers, stretching Jason out in a series of increasingly lewd squelches.

He doesn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed, because Blondie takes his cock in hand and strokes it from base to tip. Like it’s possible for him to get any harder. She lines him up with her slick arousal and he can’t swallow back a vulgar groan at the promise of sinking into that paradisal heat. A hand grips his hip and pushes him forward, driving him down into Blondie. While he’s still immersed in that euphoria Tim wedges a third finger in.

Jason lets his head droop between Blondie’s breasts. He licks a stripe up her sternum then swipes under the curve her breast, on his way to suckle at a nipple. His jaw locks, teeth delicately outlining one rosy areola when Tim starts swiveling his hand in a seamless motion that grazes Jason’s prostate with each rotation. He wants to keep heaping adulation upon the divine features of Stephanie’s body, but he’s losing control of his own, torn between grinding forward into her, or back on Tim’s hand. 

“Oh fuck,” he bites out.

“Yeah, getting there,” Tim jokes.

“Could you get anymore smug?”

There’s a pause and even without being able to see his face, Jason knows Tim is wearing that blank expression he takes on when calculating outcomes.

“There’s a solid 110% chance I will be even more smug when you’re screaming my name.”

“Are you—are you serious?” Jason wheezes, in a way that has everything to do with Tim’s terrible line and nothing at _all_ to do with the new blunt pressure against his sphincter.

“That was pretty cliché,” Blondie agrees.

Tim groans, “Don’t ruin this for me, please? Just… Steph, help me out here?”

“Of course,” she quips, and claps her hands on Jason’s ass.

She takes a hold of each cheek and pulls them apart.

Tim inhales sharply, “That’s… Not what I meant, but that’ll do too.”

Oh god, this is happening, really happening. The pressure increases and despite Tim’s painstaking efforts to open him up, Jason takes a ragged breath. It’s okay, he tells himself – it’s going to feel good eventually, just like Tim’s fingers did. He grits his teeth as he’s breached. It hurts, _it burns_ , and he panics.

“Yellow!”

“What?” Tim squeaks, but freezes nonetheless.

“It’s too big!” Jason shouts, “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it. You didn’t look that big, but fuck you _feel_ fucking huge and there’s just—there’s no way it’s gonna fit, alright?”

Blondie laughs beneath them, and the way her body convulses around his dick sends all sorts of mixed signals to his brain.

“Hey! Cut it out! It’s easy to laugh when you’re not the one with a dick up your ass!” he protests indignantly.

“Are you kidding me?” she retorts, “His dick was up _my_ ass last time. I had both you morons stuffed up in me and I’m like half your size and don’t even have a prostate! If I can do it, you can.” 

Jason opens his mouth to snap back—

“Oh for the love of Peter Quill, shut up! Both of you!”

Well, damn. Jason has never heard Tim quite that waspish before. Tim breathes deeply and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. Jason, you said Yellow,” he continues in a carefully gentle tone, albeit one that sounds two seconds from fracturing, “I need to know what you want me to do. This is the worst part, everything is downhill from here. But I will do what you say, whatever you say. It’s your call. Do you want to try to go on, or pull out?”

Jason bites his lip.

“No! I mean—I just, I need a minute.”

“No offense, Jay,” Tim grates through clenched teeth, poised on the agonizing precipice of pleasure, “But I don’t think that’s really an option. Red or Green.”

Jason’s brain whirls. His body is clamped down, trying to push the uncomfortable intrusion out. He knows Tim is right. This _is_ the worst part. He knows it from experience. Everything has just been so painless up until this point that the sudden searing hurt came as a shock.

“I—I—fuck, okay. I trust you. Green. Put your dick in me.”

He ignores the huffs of Blondie’s smothered laughter in favor of Tim’s swearing. Not his usual nerd jargon, but real swearing that would add a few dollars to Alfred’s swear jar if he got caught. The pain increases, flaring when the head of Tim’s cock finally pops past the threshold of muscle and then… Then it’s not so bad. The stretch still burns, but it’s bearable. He and Tim stay still as statues as he adjusts to the feeling of overwhelming fullness. His rectum flutters, apparently just as confused as he is when automatically squeezing down on the thing inside it not only fails to dislodge it, but also feels kind of good? It’s not obvious pleasure like when Tim targeted his prostate, but it’s… Satisfying.

“Good boy, Jay. I knew you could do it.”

Blondie squeezes sweetly around him in reward, and _god bless kegels_. He hungrily pours himself into her mouth. There’s a polite cough from behind.

“Um, so… Sorry to interrupt. But like, can I move? Yet?” Tim asks, straining.

He stops and thinks. This is the most he’s ever had to stop and think during sex. But as implicitly as he trusts his lovers, he’s in an uncommonly vulnerable position and he doesn’t want to derail things again with another freak out.

“No,” he declares. Tim gulps audibly and Jason struggles with the guilt of keeping him on the excruciating edge. “Look, I know you like being the big boss bitch, but… I need—I need to be in control of this right now? Okay?”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Tim rasps, assuaging some of Jason’s guilt with a soft kiss at the nape of his neck.

Jason takes a breath, and moves. One shallow thrust forward, and back. There’s enough saliva and lube that he glides smoothly back onto Tim. He takes another breath and does it again, stronger and more sure. Gradually he magnifies his movements until he’s taking half of Tim’s length. The burn fades into a pleasurable warmth that suffuses through the rest of his body. Tim’s nails dig into his side and shoulder, grunting with restraint, and Blondie’s feet shuffle as she tries to spread her legs even more. It’s a heady rush, holding command over their pleasure. He gets why Tim likes it so much. 

Acclimated to the movement, he adjusts his hips, trying to find that bundle of nerves Tim had bulls-eyed with his fingers. There’s some trial-and-error involved before he arches just-so and—

 _There_.

Oh god. Fuck, fuck. He rocks back, focus narrowing to pursuit of that single point. More. Harder. His eyes screw shut and his arms start to shake. Trapped between the two of them he can’t quite get the leverage he needs. He whines in frustration, arms threatening to buckle. A supporting arm wraps around his waist.

“I got you,” he can feel the shape of Tim’s words on the back of his neck, “I got you. Can I—?”

The question hangs in the air before Jason realizes he needs to answer out loud, that Tim can’t pluck it from his mind.

“Yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me,” he begs. 

Tim’s gratified groan reverberates through him, where he’s plastered himself to Jason’s back. Iron strong fingers take hold of his hips and he cedes to Tim’s control. 

“Wanted this for so long, _ngh._ Ever since you came back. Even when you hated me. Knew you’d feel perfect. You were _so angry_ and… God, I never met anyone that— _raw_. Wanted to know what you’d feel like—if you burned just as hot on the inside too,” Tim growls.

The words wash over Jason. He can’t make sense of them, can barely hear them over the blood rushing through his ears. Tim moves in and out of him in long unhurried strokes, pulling out almost to the tip before shoving back in balls deep, forcing Jason flush into Stephanie. She mewls under them. The sound makes Jason’s dick twitch inside her and spurs Tim on. His hips snap forward in swift powerful thrusts. Jason lowers onto his elbows for stability, not wanting his arms to give out and crush Stephanie.

Sweat drips down his nose and splashes against her collarbone. Her thighs tighten around his waist like she’s trying to press the air from his lungs. She tosses her head back, mouth gaping and screams. Her hands fly up seeking something, _anything_ , to latch onto and grab at his chest. Her fingernails dig tiny crescent moons into his skin and her thumbs brush over his nipples, too erratically to be anything but accidental. The tiny pinpricks of pain and arousal on top of the sparks shooting up his spine and the growing coil of heat in his belly is too much for his overwrought and hypersensitive body. He jerks and writhes, unable to find reprieve between Blondie’s orgasm milking his cock and Tim driving unerringly into his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries.

Literally cries. His vision blurs and his face is hot with tears. Hands tangle in his hair and guide his wet cheek against soft skin.

“ ‘S okay,” Stephanie slurs, “ ‘s okay, let go.”

Tim thrusts and white stars burst behind his eyes.

 

 

Spots of color drift at the edges of his sight. His fingers and toes tingle. Fingers rake through his curls, smoothing them back from his face.

“You with me Big Guy?”

He hums and nods, leaning into the touch. Soaking up oxytocin like sunshine at the skin to skin contact.

“Haha, yeah. Hey, I hate to ruin your post-coital-coma-glow, but you’re kind of crushing me.”

“Hunh?”

He pushes unsteadily up onto one elbow, the right side of his face peeling away from the sweat-sticky skin of Blondie’s neck. He grimaces at the sensation, then grimaces again at the stickiness everywhere else as well. Oh. He’s still inside her. He pulls out and rolls off to the side, wrinkling his nose at the gross squelch.

“Sorry,” he apologizes and flops onto his back. He doesn’t even remember Tim pulling out of _him._ He turns his head, looking for their third member. “Where’s… Where’s Tim?”

“Oh, he’s over here. He cummed so hard he almost died. You doing okay Tim?”

An arm raises into the air on Blondie’s other side and gives and exhausted thumbs up. Jason reaches over lethargically and grabs the arm.

“What are you doing?” Tim queries, not fighting the grip at all.

“Checking my time,” Jason says, twisting his wrist to try and get a look at the watch face. “You said you were gonna time my refact—my refractory period. Wanna know how good I did. Ya know, for science.”

“Aw crapbags!” Tim bolts upright, hair askew. He taps frantically at the watch. “I forgot to turn off the timer when you got hard again. I got—I got distracted,” he whines petulantly.

Jason sniggers. Tim glares at him, then arches one haughty eyebrow.

“Guess we’ll just have to try again. Besides, according to the scientific method, we have to conduct any experiment at least three times against a control before claiming the results have any validity anyways,” he drawls slyly.

“ _Three more times?_ ” Jason turns to Blondie in alarm,

She sighs deeply, "And a control."

Tim’s crawls over Stephanie and drapes himself over their laps, his smile grows even brighter, “And three trials is really only acceptable for grade school science projects. If we really wanted to be serious in our research we’re going to need years and years worth of data. Maybe even a life-long study.”

Years and years. Life-long. His eyes start to prickle so he tilts his head back. Two sets of arms wrap around him and hold him close.

“Fucking nerds,” he sniffs fondly and laughs.


End file.
